The Seventh Corpse Walker Unbound
by DoorbellSpider
Summary: "The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?" —Edgar Allan Poe


Aedan had died. He was sure of it. The impact of arrows dug deep into his lungs and flooded them with sharpened iron and his own blood. Death had been a painful suffocation as he drowned in his blood, trying to breathe as the arrowheads cut deeper into his flesh, sawing open the lining of his insides with each inhale. There was no gentle embrace of vanishing consciousness when his heart gave out. It was not oblivion. It was the muted consciousness of half-wakefulness, of waiting as his mind rose up from dark depths of half-formed thoughts and flickering dreams.

The interior of a paneled wooden roof of thick, rough cut beams swam into view. Drying herbs and tanned furs hung from hooks, creating dancing shapes of light and shadow in the flickering orange glow of firelight. With muscles that felt a bit slow and stiff to move, he glanced to one side, spotting a familiar silhouette draped in purple cloth and black leather. The woman turned around, moving with a feline grace that held a wild naturalness unlike the practiced movements of courtly ladies.

"Ah, your eyes finally open. Mother shall be pleased."

"I…" Aedan ran out of breath, unexpectedly. Frowning, he inhaled, feeling it to be more of an effort than usual. "I remember you, you're the woman from the Wilds." His voice was rusty and thick, far hoarser than normal but given how shoddy he was feeling, it was expected.

She nodded. "I am Morrigan, lest you have forgotten. And we are in the Wilds, where you are recovering from your wounds."

"My…?" He felt the air escaping from his lungs again, but his body seemed sluggish in its desire to inhale on its own accord. He lifted his head, sitting up to get a look at himself. Someone had stripped him of his armor and clothes, and he could see some unfamiliar scars where the arrows had struck him. Those surely must have been killing blows, placed as they were across his chest. His skin seemed to have taken on a pallor in this light, much like the time he had lain sick abed one winter, many years ago, stricken with pneumonia. The shadows across his body were darker than he expected in this light, taking on a purple hue not unlike fresh bruises. Touching one hand to the new scars, he asked in a voice that sounded like it was tumbling down over a talus slope, all falling gravel and sharp rocks, "Were my injuries…" he had to breath again, not having sucked in enough to finish his question, "severe?"

Morrigan regarded him carefully for several long moments. "They were," She said at long last, the words clipped and guarded. "I expect you shall be fine. The darkspawn did nothing Mother could not repair."

"What of...of Alistair?"

"He is...as you are." She looked away to one side, appearing more cold and distant than a few moments before. "I suppose it would be unkind to say he is being childish."

"They were his friends that fell," He said, drawing another laborious breath.

Morrigan eyed Aedan cooly. "And you think they would encourage his blubbering? If so, they are not the sort of Grey Wardens the legends note."

"There will be time enough for mourning...when we are not at risk of the horde. Are we safe here, from the darkspawn?" He was beginning to get the hang of breathing once more, though it still felt like more effort than normal.

"We are safe, for the moment. Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn away. Once you leave, 'tis uncertain what will happen. The horde has moved on, so you might avoid it."

"Were there...other grey wardens who survived? The King?"

"All dead. Your friend has veered between denial and grief since Mother told him. He is outside by the fire. Mother asked to see you when you awoke." There was a frosty note of dismissal in her voice, giving him a less than subtle nudge to get out of the hut.

Aedan gave a jerky nod and rose, reaching for his clothes and armor which he noted had been cleaned recently. "My thanks, Morrigan."

She glanced at him, surprised, and then looked away, eyes downcast in a manner that suggested regret. "I...you are welcome. Mother did most of the work, not I." She returned to straightening up the bookshelves then, acting as if Aedan wasn't there.

He felt stiff, and...not warm. He didn't feel cold, which didn't explain why his muscles were so slow to respond. It took a few extra moments to work his clothes on, his fingers unexpectedly clumsy when buckling his scale mail back on. He felt almost numb all over, like touch was muffled the way sound was when heard through a barrier. Outside he saw the familiar profile of his warden brother by the fire, grief clear in the other man's face and the set of his shoulders. Alistair looked no better than what Aedan had seen of himself, with a pale cast beneath his usual tan complexion.

The second familiar figure turned at Aedan's exit from the hut, eyes glimmering in the dim burning light. "See? Here is your fellow Grey Warden," she said aside to Alistair. "You worry too much, young man."

Alistair's head jerked around, taking in Aedan's presence. "You...you're alive!" He said, voice as raspy as Aedan's had been in the interior of the hut. He gave a surprised laugh, the sound weighed down by grief. Equal measures of relief and despair colored his features and his eyes seemed oddly brighter than before...unnaturally so, and paler in color. "I thought you were dead for sure."

"I…" Again, Aedan tripped over words, prematurely running out of breath.

"Did indeed die, yes." The older woman said amiably. "You both did, unfortunately. It is true to say no Grey Wardens survived the assault on Ostagar." She smirked bitterly. "But even death must be coerced to make room for the greater good sometimes."

"W-what?"

Aedan turned even as Alistair did to stare, but the woman stood apart, looking into the distance. The long shadows at her feet flickered and danced, reaching out beyond the tiny pool of firelight into the dark encroachment of the night, more alive in their movements than any of the three that stood there. "You heard me the first time, didn't you lad? Those ears on your head aren't just for ornamentation I hope," she said.

"But...but we're still here! How are we still here, if we're…?" Alistair trailed off, uncomprehending horror dawning across his face.

Aedan's attention had turned inward, as he waited—listening, feeling. There was no pulse of blood in his veins, no thump of his heart. There was simply the crackling of wood as it was consumed by fire, and the distant murmured song of the swamp denizens greeting the oncoming night. He stood still as stone, keeping a tight grasp on the sudden surge of panic and incomprehension that rose within his silent chest.

"Well, we cannot have all the Grey Wardens dying at once, can we? Someone has to deal with these darkspawn." The woman said, dark amusement filtering through the bitterness that cracked her voice, like the first chill winds of winter through dead leaves. "It has always been the Grey Wardens' duty to unite the lands against the Blight. I am but an old woman whom the world has largely forgotten, and considering what the world has done to me, I have already done more than it deserves in bringing the two of you back to save its miserable hide."

"Why us?" Aedan said, his voice harsh with anger and fraying restraint. His demeanor had taken a turn for the darker and the air about him was thick with the promise of barely withheld violence. "Why _this?_"

The woman turned to meet his gaze then, her eyes glinting brightly in the darkness like moonlight upon the edge of a blade. There was no alarm or panic in response to Aedan's anger, only the quiet patience of one who had no reason to fear and good reason to _be_ feared.

"It was either _this_, or letting the worst come to pass. How do you think the world would fare if an entire kingdom fell to the Darkspawn, if the Archdemon was allowed to create a base for its army to grow even larger? Your home would be swallowed whole, and Ferelden would be no more, should the world manage not to perish in the aftermath." She folded her arms, again that dark humor coloring her voice. "I can't force you to save the country if you truly do not wish it. You can leave it to burn, if you hold that much contempt for it and all who call it home."

The world almost seemed to turn red as Aedan fought against the dizzying haze of anger that swept through him. He struggled to master himself, taking several moments to make an attempt at calming down. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped. The strangeness of being felt off, and that awful sensation of not breathing, not _living_ agitated his mood further. Before he mustered his wits together to speak, Alistair's voice broke through the fog of rage.

"All the Grey Wardens in Ferelden are gone except for us. I've lost everyone! For the love of the Maker, don't back out on me now!" He begged.

And Aedan caved with a gusty sigh. "I know...I know." He said, looking off into the distance over the other warden's shoulder. "I am with you."

"Then we have to do something! I won't let their deaths be in vain! But I can't do it by myself." Alistair said, gathering himself.

"...why did you save us, instead of the King, or Duncan?" Aedan asked, looking back towards the woman who was still waiting very patiently for the two Grey Wardens to adjust to their newfound circumstances.

"They were already long gone by the time I arrived. You two were the only ones I could save. Any longer and not even my magic would have been enough to call you back from the depths of the Fade." She paused, turning to look at Alistair as his expression crumbled.

"None of this makes any sense...why would Loghain do this?" Alistair asked, his grief still so raw and fresh as an unbound wound.

"Now that is a good question. Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature. I am sorry for your Duncan, but your grief must come later...in the dark shadows before you take vengeance, as my mother once said. Duty must come now." She said gently, sympathizing with the other's suffering—and the suffering the two Grey Wardens had yet to endure.

"Can we...die, in this state?" Aedan waved a hand between himself and Alistair, still angry, still disturbed to think that he was dead—was Fergus still alive? Or were the Couslands dead to the last?

"Not permanently." The old woman responded with grim amusement. "You can feel pain just fine, so I would suggest thinking twice before throwing yourself upon a darkspawn's sword."

"Do we need to eat, or sleep, or...anything else?"

"Ha! I wouldn't suggest eating, no. Food as you knew it won't do you any good now. What your body will crave it can do without...although you might find it more beneficial to indulge on occasion."

Suspicion reared its head, and Aedan was certain he wouldn't like the answer to his next question, but he dared to ask it anyway, needing to know. "What would we want to eat?"

"I'm sure you know the tales of walking corpses and restless dead well enough to guess, warden." She said. "As for sleeping, no, you will not need to sleep. Apart from resting to allow your body time to repair any damage it has incurred, you are essentially tireless. Consider it one of the perks. As for everything else—since I imagine you won't be eating any time soon, no, you needn't worry about "anything else", for the time being. Your bodies already took care of that at the moment of death," Her voice took on a note of genuine amusement then. "Morrigan cleaned up the mess, so you have her to thank for that." It was in her daughter's interests to help cut down on the potential smell, seeing as she'd be going with them—not that Morrigan knew it just yet.

"I...see...what are these...perks?" It was a surreal conversation for Aedan, and he kept wondering if he'd wake up and find it all just to be a bad dream. Could this truly be reality? A creeping fear gripped him as each moment passed, a fear that whispered that yes, this was to fill his waking moments without end.

"Those you'll learn along the way. All in good time, warden, all in good time. And you _will_ have time, mark my words." She allowed herself a chuckle before turning serious once more. "You _must_ succeed in stopping the Blight. For the world's sake, and your own."

He dug through the confusion, much as a man would search blindly with his hands in the darkness for something lost. "...if we cannot die, when does this all end?" Aedan asked.

The woman arched an eyebrow at that. "When your work is finished, warden. Then, and only then, will you go to your well-earned rest."

Another angry breath exhaled, needlessly, but for the sake of expressing his state of mind. "So...our task is to stop the Blight…"

"The Archdemon," Alistair supplied, his expression hardening as he grasped at one of the few things that remained constant in his understanding of his world.

"We will need an army for that...Arl Eamon, perhaps?" Aedan suggested, having a sudden memory rise up out of the mire in his mind, of Duncan mentioning it to the King, who waved it off with a cheery laugh. A sudden wave of hatred towards the dead King rose up in Aedan's heart, as he wondered if things might have been different if the glory-seeking king had waited for reinforcements instead of chasing it blindly upon the field. He and Alistair were to pay the price for the failed assault at Ostagar, and they would never know if waiting would have made a difference now.

"I suppose...Arl Eamon wasn't at Ostagar; he still has all his men. And he was Cailan's uncle." Alistair said, working it out slowly as he spoke. A light came to his unnaturally bright eyes, causing a thought crossed Aedan's mind then—were his own eyes that bright, as well? "I know him. He's a good man, respected in the Landsmeet. Of course! We could go to Redcliffe and appeal to him for help!"

"And the treaties...we have other allies, don't we?" Aedan asked, glancing back to the old woman briefly as he spoke. "Do you still have them, Alistair?"

"Oh! Yes, I have them in my pack—I never handed them off to...to Duncan," Alistair faltered for a moment as he said his mentor's name, but mustered his resolve to continue. "Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places! They're obligated to help us during a Blight!"

"So you are set then? Ready to be Grey Wardens?"

Aedan scowled at the woman, who looked all too serene, and all too calm. But then, she wasn't a walking aberration. "As ready as we can be considering the circumstances," He said, angry and unsettled, and uncomfortable inside a body that felt more like a suit of unfamiliar clothes than his own skin.

"Good. Now...before you go, there is yet one more thing I can offer you." The old woman smirked, turning her head to look pointedly at her daughter as the younger witch stepped out from the hut.

"The stew is bubbling, Mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?" Morrigan asked, looking pointedly at the wardens.

"The Grey Wardens are leaving shortly, girl. And you will be joining them." Her mother said, waiting with an amused curl of her lip for her daughter to process the words.

"Such a shame—What?" Morrigan did an abrupt double-take as she caught on.

"You heard me, girl. The last time I looked you had ears!" The old woman laughed. In an abrupt switch to a more solemn tone, she said, "The Grey Wardens need you, Morrigan. For both the obvious reasons," She waved at the two men, indicating their deathly state, "and the more pressing big picture. Alone, these two must unite Ferelden against the darkspawn. Without you, they will surely fail, and all will perish under the Blight. Even I."

Golden eyes flicked over to the two wardens, taking their measure. It was clear by the set of her mouth that Morrigan was unhappy and displeased by the prospect of traveling with two walking dead men, but was resigned to the necessity of her presence among them. "Allow me to get my things, if you please." She said, turning away to vanish back into the hut.

Their departure from the old apostate's hut was hurried while remaining just on the correct side of polite. Aedan wanted _away_, as much as he could manage. He knew he was retreating, and that he should stand and face his situation, but he was overwhelmed. So close upon the heels of the death of much of his family—and who knew if Fergus still lived?—the costs of joining the Order of the Grey, and then the disaster of Ostagar on top of both Alistair and himself being dead and then brought back as this was simply too much in too short a time for him. He'd tried to ask the old woman about it, but her answers had been elusive at best, and he had no patience for bandying crooked words with strange swamp witches right now. He marched onward, paying the barest minimum of attention to their surroundings as they followed Morrigan's lead out of the wilds. He didn't notice when the sky began to darken, nor the subtle creep of the colors leeching out from their surroundings.

Preoccupied as he was with not thinking, it came as a surprise when Morrigan called for them to stop for the night in a relatively insect-free clearing. They had bedrolls, but nothing in the way of tents as of yet. They'd have to pick some up at the next town they found—Morrigan had mentioned one, but the name eluded Aedan, being that his mind was otherwise occupied. Searching through his pack, he withdrew some bread, eyeing it dully.

Morrigan's voice cut through his unenthused observation of the bread roll then. "I hope you recall my mother's advice on the matter of eating, warden. The results of experimentation would not be enjoyable for any present company," She said, having set up her bedroll farther away from Aedan's and Alistair's. She fixed him with a gimlet stare as she added archly, "Inform me should you begin to feel hunger pangs, though I suspect such will not happen for some days yet. None of us would wish to experience the surprise of one of you suddenly deciding to reflexively take a bite out of me, and I can assure you neither of you would enjoy the results of such an action, believe you me."

He glowered at her a moment more before he stuffed the bread back into his pack. He wasn't sure what he'd do with it. Perhaps give it to Zeke—"FUCK!" Aedan snarled, suddenly standing in a moment of panic. "WHERE THE FUCK IS MY DOG?!"

Alistair's head jerked up as he regarded his fellow warden in surprise. "Your dog?"

"When we first arrived at Ostagar, Duncan led him away to the King's kennels. I didn't bring him with us to the Tower of Ishal since I wasn't expecting us to be fighting our way up," Aedan fretted, pacing to and fro in an attempt to quell the sudden maelstrom of emotions raging through him at the thought of his dog's absence. It was such a small thing, amongst all the larger more important events. But the Blight be damned, he just wanted his dog back.

"Hush. Mother's efforts will all be for naught if the darkspawn find us through your outbursts," Morrigan said, frowning. Her words were softened a little by a degree of sympathy for the man, but the point remained that survival came first, with grieving a far second.

He felt like he should be crying, or screaming. But his body was unresponsive to emotion, answering only to force of will now. His eyes were dry of tears he could no longer shed, and his lungs were empty of air unless he chose to fill them. It was then, when even the acts of grieving were a matter he could not fall into naturally anymore, that he began to truly grasp the reality of his situation. Anger and sorrow tore at him, but he stood still and silent, not even breathing.

Morrigan watched him carefully for a time before finally saying, "You will not feel the need for rest, but your body will still require time to mend. Sit down, or lie down. Dawn will come in its time, and we will deal with the new day then." It seemed she would need to lead them a ways yet, even once they had left the Wilds behind. It was grim indeed if the world was to rely on these two wardens to save it, if they could not adapt quickly and do what needed to be done.

Aedan didn't look at her, or Alistair, instead turning slowly with unseeing eyes and clumsy steps to his bedroll. With mechanical movements he tucked himself in under his blankets, not bothering to question whether he needed them or not. Perhaps he should have discussed setting a watch roster with Alistair. But he simply couldn't care. He crossed his hands over his chest and looked up at the skies overhead, watching the stars slowly wheel in their silent travels with unblinking eyes.

He still dreamed, though.

He dreamed of unbidden thoughts even as he watched the nighttime world shift before his eyes. He wondered at some point if he would go insane without respite from his mind. So he counted the stars, recalling the tales Nan and his father had told him as a child about them, trying to separate his thoughts of the people from the thoughts of the tales they'd wrought for a young boy drowsing upon the edge of slumber. He could feel his heart breaking afresh with the proximity of their memories, but he didn't cry. He couldn't, not anymore, and that made him want to do so all the more. All he could do was wait for his sorrow to run its course, and grow into a dull, fitful pain.

The hours before dawn were slow to pass in this manner, without sleep to whisk them by. Aedan sat up as the sun rose, observing from the corner of his eye that Alistair had sat up to watch him wearing an expression that looked much like how Aedan himself was feeling. Standing up from his bedroll, Aedan walked with slow, stumbling steps without looking to sink down beside Alistair, pushing his shoulder against the other's in an unspoken request. Alistair leaned back against Aedan, and both could feel the weight of the other's presence—their warden brother in both life, and death. They sat together like that, unmoving, until Morrigan stirred. Then they separated, not speaking as they packed up camp and moved on.

The nights passed in a similar manner as they made their trek through the Wilds and out into the rolling farmlands of the southernmost parts of the Bannorn, with Aedan and Alistair sitting beside one another unspeaking to watch dawn break upon the lands. Morrigan did not speak to them beyond the barest necessity, giving them as wide a berth as possible. They came upon the outskirts of the small village of Lothering at long last—and darkspawn, attacking a familiar figure.

To a foreigner it was not uncommon to say all mabari looked alike. But to a Fereldan, mabaris were as recognizable as the face of a family member. Aedan ran forward, giddy with recognition—and fear. Zeke's strength was waning, and he was covered in blood.

The three of them ran forward, with Alistair and Aedan crashing into the darkspawn like a rip tide, tearing the darkspawn apart with unbridled ferocity. Their blades sliced through muscle and bone with inhuman strength, and Aedan thought he felt his shoulder wrench upon a downward swing and checked himself before scanning for the next darkspawn. There were none. All of the darkspawn had been cut down.

Zeke whined at the sight of Aedan, reaching toward his human with a bloody muzzle as he slowly, cautiously limped closer.

"Zeke...Zeke, old boy, it's me, Aedan," Aedan removed his helmet and crouched slowly, hands empty and widespread.

The mabari approached to give the undead warrior a painstakingly thorough sniffing, raising his nose to within an inch of Aedan's own. The stumpy stub that served as Zeke's tail began to wag gingerly then, the movements jerky and limited by pain. Zeke gave Aedan's face a welcoming lick, but he didn't jump about in excitement as he would have normally.

Worriedly Aedan looked his hound over, not finding any mortal or grievous wounds that would explain Zeke's behavior. A hand upon his shoulder drew his attention to Alistair, who stood with a pitying expression that summoned a dark dread from within Aedan.

"I'm sorry, Aedan...it's the taint. I can feel it in him. Some dogs, they swallow too much darkspawn blood during the fighting. I saw it before, back in Ostagar. There was a tincture they gave the dogs that helped fight off the blight sickness...but I don't know it."

Aedan's eyes slid to Morrigan in silent entreaty, hoping she might know of a way to save Zeke.

But all she could do was fold her arms and look away.

Turning back to Zeke, Aedan hugged him close. He kept silent, as if a single sound might bring down calamity upon their heads, as if he could deny the inevitable conclusion of what must be done. Zeke leaned against Aedan, licking him upon the cheek, accepting, forgiving, and above all, glad to see his human one more time. Zeke had known long before they'd reunited that he was dying, the feeling of wrongness and pain spreading through him as he searched for Aedan. He didn't understand what was wrong with Aedan, but he still moved and he still spoke, and he was still Aedan, and that was what mattered.

Morrigan sighed, her lips drawn thin. "There is a way that you can save him, though the word "save" is used rather loosely in this instance."

Aedan didn't move, remaining silent and still, listening.

Alistair looked aside at her, shocked into focusing on her as she continued.

"Your hound must still die. There is nothing you can do to prevent that. 'Tis possible, however, to bind him to you and make him like you are. He will remain at your side for as long as you continue to walk this side of the Veil. All it requires is, after his death, that you add a drop of his blood to your pendant." She held out a small black bag, dangling it in Aedan's line of sight. "Whichever you choose, I have poisons that will ensure a quick and painless death, better than any blade."

Taking the bag, Aedan looked from Morrigan to Zeke, not saying a word. His heart was torn, and he knew he wished to hold to Zeke as tightly as he could, even past death.

But was it worth the price?

He released Zeke, reaching to rub both of his hound's ears, accidentally smearing both of them red with blood. He paid the blood no mind, looking into Zeke's eyes and asking him, "What would you do, Zeke? I...don't know what will become of us, of me, of Alistair, or you if you join us. It's...not like life. We don't sleep, we don't eat...not usually. It's not...pleasant." He hesitated, glancing away for a moment before meeting his dog's watchful gaze again. "I would keep you by my side, if you would join me. But it is your choice."

The moments passed as Zeke studied Aedan's expression, before ultimately giving his human another lick across his face and nosing the black bag to indicate his choice.

Morrigan refrained from rolling her eyes, barely. "Mind the glass does not break. The containment spells are delicate, and direct contact with the living will cause the vial to shatter. You would not wish to deal with the problems that will arise should that come to pass, Warden."

"There are an awful lot of problems I would rather not deal with," Aedan growled as he opened the bag. He wasn't angry at Morrigan specifically, since she was helping them, in a manner of speaking. But the circumspect answers and oblique hints were trying his now very-frayed nerves. "I don't suppose you'll be enlightening me as to what that problem might be?" He asked, holding out his hand for the aforementioned poison.

She handed over a vial with a dark, bluish-black mixture that clung to the glass, the contents splashing about sluggishly in response to the jostling. "'T'will release a demon of no small measure of power," She said in clipped tones. "Through its life and its power are you bound to your form."

"_What?!_" Alistair exclaimed, shock and horror upon his face. "Your mother stuffed _demons_ into our corpses and stuck us _back_ into them? How is that at all safe? Or sane?"

Giving a disgusted sigh of impatience, Morrigan gripped her arms tightly to resist the urge to smack the dull-witted templar upside his thick head. "'Tis not safe, 'tis what worked, and given what she had on hand to work with, I am surprised it worked at all. Given that she chose to bring _you_ back, I think 'tis safe to rule out the venture being sane."

"Oh, so she just happens to keep powerful demons lying around offhand, does she?" Alistair responded, his expression deadpan.

"Alistair," Aedan said, packing a reprimand into that one word as he eyed his brother warden. Alistair acquiesced, though by the set of his jaw Aedan could tell that the other warrior was not going to let the subject go permanently—but then, neither was he. "What happens if these demons get loose? Do we...die, so to speak?" Aedan said, turning his attention back to Morrigan while unconsciously stroking Zeke's head.

"No, what will ensue will be a battle, for dominance of your physical form. Should you lose that battle, we will be left with a powerful and essentially immortal revenant. Therefore, I would strongly suggest that you kill your demon, should you ever make the mistake of releasing it. Its life and its power will be absorbed into the spell, while its consciousness will dissipate. It must be you who strikes the killing blow for your respective demons—should any other's hand mete out the final strike, the demons will simply resurrect, much as you will should you sustain enough injury to fall." Morrigan answered, a bit stiffly.

Aedan glared at Morrigan for several seconds, before he asked, "And _why_ didn't your mother tell us this before?"

The question caused Morrigan to arch an eyebrow in response. "Because you have handled what news she has told you so well. You have limits, Warden, and it is plain that they are strained. The Blight will not wait for you to sort out your feelings and personal crises, thus the need to limit how much information you learn at any one time. I was not to tell you how to do this so soon, but that dog's continued presence obviously holds far too much sway over your peace of mind. Given the present company, I thought it unwise to withhold the information concerning the demons if the two of you are to cart your pendants about." She eyed Alistair in particular as she spoke, adding, "People rarely appreciate handling a delicate matter with the care needed without knowing a great deal more than they need to."

Seeing Alistair's mouth open, Aedan cut him off, holding up a hand to forestall any further conversation. "We can talk about this later, I need to tend to Zeke."

Zeke at that moment let out a soft whine, his ears folded back along his skull.

Aedan hugged him tight, trying to ignore the fear of it all going wrong—and the fear of it going right. "It'll be alright Zeke. It'll be alright," He said those words as much for Zeke as he did for himself, before pouring the poison down his dog's throat. He held Zeke, listening to his dog's breathing slow, and eventually, stop. Fumbling to open the bag with hands suddenly far more clumsy than they were a few moments ago, he reached inside and withdrew the two pendants tangled together by their chains.

"Be sure it is yours that you use," Morrigan interjected. "Your names are carved on the back. One drop of your hound's blood beside the first drop beneath the text will suffice, so long as you use your thumb to print it."

Aedan frowned in surprise—his pendant had been blank on the back when Duncan had given it to him—and he flipped the first one he caught hold of to look, feeling an unexpected and strange sense of cold envelop his hand as he did so. The words, recently engraved with a minutely fine, practiced script stood out from the silver like black against white:

_The dead are denied rest, their sworn oaths unfulfilled._

_Bound by your true name, no mortal blow will free you._

_Alistair Theirin, revenant and perversion of a loyal warden._

_Never again shall you fall nor falter, for each time you shall rise again._

_Fade and Void reject you, Alistair Theirin, till your task's complete._

A single red spot rested centered beneath the words, as bright and shining as fresh blood. He should have been shaking, and the reaction's absence sent a subtle ripple of disturbance through him as he grabbed the second one, his eyes skittering away from the presence of those dark carved words. His mind noted the last name, realizing it was important, but the relevance evaded him in light of the present circumstances as his dog lay dead across his lap. Removing his gauntlet, he reached out with one bloodless hand to dip a thumb into the nearest of the shallow slices that decorated Zeke's body. _If there is a Maker,_ Aedan thought, his blood-daubed hand hovering in a moment of hesitation above the surface of his pendant, _please hear me...please, let it all be alright._ He didn't know what he was praying for, that this accursed ritual would work, that he would find his final rest, or that all of Ferelden and all of the world be safe from the Blight. He simply prayed, and pressed his bloody fingertip against the cold metal beside the first bright red mark. His eyes could not avoid the words now, as he waited the span of seconds for the result of his actions:

_Death is denied until the corruption is purged and the task fulfilled._

_With tainted blood and burning soul, you are bound by your true name._

_Aedan Cousland, revenant and perversion of an orphaned son._

_No rest will there be for you, no end until your appointed duty finished._

_Fade and Void reject you, Aedan Cousland, till your task's complete._

Zeke's paws twitched, drawing Aedan's gaze away from those damning words, and as the mabari rose shakily upon his feet to press his nose into Aedan's face again, the warden was unsure if he should be overjoyed, or afraid.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Many thanks to EasternViolet for her beta-ing capabilities, even amidst the coming of Dragon Age:Inquisition! xD

**Edit:** I keep forgetting to add Author Notes and explanations. xD This was a one-shot for the CMDA Monster Mash-Up challenge. I may write more for it at a later date.


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